


When You're Young, You Just Run

by thefairfleming



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2691188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP in which Bellamy and Clarke are competing mayoral candidates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You're Young, You Just Run

The beers are becoming a tradition.

What comes after the beers is probably becoming a tradition, too, but Clarke doesn’t want to think about what that might mean right now, not when Bellamy Blake is leaning against the doorjamb in that plaid shirt with the rolled up sleeves that had been so...distracting tonight, two ice cold beers dangling from his fingertips.

“I see you ditched the tie,” she says, arms folded over her chest. This is a tradition, too, her acting like she might not let him in.

He doesn’t exactly smile at her, but his lips quirk just the littlest bit. “Felt like it was choking me,” he says, and then nods down at her suit. “Don’t know how you wear that kind of stuff all the time.”

She’d picked the black one for tonight’s debate, thinking it came across as professional, but not fussy, and maybe it had, but compared to Bellamy in that shirt with his jeans and his whole Man Of The People Thing, she’d probably looked like an undertaker’s assistant.

Bellamy grins then and reaches out with his free hand and just barely brushes the back of her knee, that simple touch practically turning her bones to water. “Glad you do, though,” he says, voice low. “This kind of stuff looks damn good on you.”

Clarke swats at his hand even as her cheeks flame red, her heart speeding up.

“Get inside and open those beers before they get warm,” she says, turning away from the door and walking purposefully towards the kitchen. He’s behind her- she can hear him kick the door shut- but she doesn’t turn around to look at him.

Clarke’s kitchen, like the rest of her house, is neat and a little sterile, but then she doesn’t spend that much time in it. Between the hospital and this mayoral campaign, she feels like she’s barely ever home. She should really make more of an effort to-

Her thoughts come to an abrupt halt when Bellamy catches her wrist, pulling her up hard against him, her back pressed to his chest. A startled laugh escapes her, but it quickly turns to a groan when his lips find that spot just below her ear. Something cold touches her palm, and Clarke smiles, letting the fingers of one hand curl around the beer bottle he’s offering her, even as her other hand reaches behind her to sink her fingers into his thick hair.

“You made some good points tonight, Princess,” Bellamy murmurs against her throat, and closing her eyes, Clarke tilts her head back against his collarbone, lifting the beer to her lips.

“Is that why you said I was ‘living in a Disney movie,’ if I thought the federal government would help us out, no strings attached?”

He huffs out a chuckle, and Clarke shivers at the feel of his breath against her skin. “Okay, maybe _that_ wasn’t the best point, but that bit about pulling together as a town? I can get behind that.”

Bellamy is tugging her silk blouse from the waistband of her skirt now, and Clarke takes another long swallow of her beer, still letting her other hand card through his hair. “You made some good points, too,” she concedes, tilting her hips forward so that he can unfasten the button at the back of her skirt. He does just that, giving him enough room to slide his hand inside her waistband, his palm warm and wide low on her stomach.

“Try saying that like the words don’t burn, and maybe I’ll believe it,” he whispers in her ear, making her laugh again.

“I mean it!” she insists, but then his hand slips lower, and she drops her hand from his hair, grabbing the sink with one hand, the other still tightly clutching her beer. “Oh!”

His fingers move boldly over her, and she can feel him hard against her ass as he drops his forehead to the back of her neck and groans, “Fuck, if I had known you were naked under this skirt…,”

Clarke’s eyes are squeezed shut, her breath coming fast and hard, but she still has the wherewithal to reply, “I always am during our debates.”

Another groan, and his fingers circle her clit harder, faster until she has to set the beer on the counter before she drops it.

“That’s sabotage,” he tells her, and she smiles, pressing her hips back against his touch a move that has his own free hand coming out to grasp the counter as he fucks her with his fingers.

“That’s politics,” Clarke replies, and then she’s coming, gasping and clutching at the counter, her cries echoing in her perfect stainless steel and tile kitchen.

She’s barely stopped gasping when he pulls his hand from her skirt, turns her around, and kisses her, hard and hot and good, one hand spread wide on her jaw, the other squeezing her ass. Clarke has to rise up on her tiptoes to hold on, and she hooks one arm around his neck, letting her other hand rest low on his back.

When the kiss ends, he’s watching her with those dark eyes she can never read, and Clarke reaches up to push the hair off his forehead. “You know,” she says, still panting a bit, “We could always run together. Co-mayors.”

Smirking, Bellamy squeezes her ass again. “If we did that, could we still do _this_?”

Clarke hums and gives him another kiss, letting her lips linger against his. “I’m open to negotiations.”


End file.
